


Make it better

by rolloverbeethoven



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, Crying Paul McCartney, Earthquakes, F/M, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Poor John, Suspense, They all get hurt some way or another so ur fav is in there <3, try read it you might like it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-01-26 18:24:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21378538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rolloverbeethoven/pseuds/rolloverbeethoven
Summary: John feels the earth shudder, and finally opens his eyes. He's on the floor, and can see pieces of plaster lying around him. He can't remember anything until his eyes lock on a dark body lying on the floor in front of him...An earthquake happens while the boys are in their hotel room.Trigger warning: some characters may or may not die i don't want to ruin any suspense but just warning100% fictionHope you all enjoy it
Relationships: George Harrison & John Lennon, George Harrison & John Lennon & Paul McCartney, George Harrison & John Lennon & Paul McCartney & Ringo Starr, George Harrison & Paul McCartney, George Harrison & Ringo Starr, John Lennon & Paul McCartney, John Lennon & Ringo Starr, Paul McCartney & Ringo Starr
Comments: 35
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

They were all lounging around the hotel room. There was a long couch and two arm chairs, and they were all spread out. John was lying on his back, mindlessly strumming his guitar, while Paul stood over him, shaking his head at John taking up the entire couch.

John looked over at Ringo, sitting in an armchair, reading his fan letters. He was always so careful and kind in replying to as many as he could, and John couldn't help but feel bad for his own fans, who he hardly replied to at all. He looked over at Paul, who was going over lines in his notebook. He looked past Paul to see George splayed out on one of the queen beds, asleep. He looked so much younger than he was asleep, and that annoyed John just a bit, for no reason. This was all so boring, lying out doing nothing in their subpar hotel room. This wasn't the life of a music icon. John picked up a hotel slipper, and for a bit of fun, aimed it at George's head.

"What was that for?" George said angrily as he rose from his bed. John shook his head, "I'm not sure, just felt like it," he winked. George shook his head before changing into trousers, "I'm going to get some food, anyone?" John stood up, he wasn't really hungry, but he needed to get out of the room. Paul stood up as well, as did Ringo. John slipped on a leather jacket and followed the other three out of the room. Paul called the elevator while Ringo knocked on Brian's door to let him know they were going for food. John huffed, they had to tell Brian everything lately after the last time they tried to face the public on their own. The door opened, "Hello, lads, Mal and I'll come down with you if you'll just wait a few seconds," he said before going back into his room. John was too tired for a quip back, and made his way over beside Paul and George for the lift.

The lift rattled up the shaft, and the six men piled in. It was a tiny and shabby lift, with flickering buttons and semi-grimy walls. He felt an elbow in his side, and hair in his eyes that he couldn't remove with his hands because they were pinned to his sides. "Brian, you've really outdone yourself this time. Whose idea was it to book this one?" Brian just sighed, "We'll be out of here tomorrow, John, don't be so dramatic." The lift crashed to the floor, and the group walked out as soon as the doors scraped open.

They were in the lobby, opting for the mediocre and expensive hotel restaurant, relying purely on its convenience and the fact that they wouldn't have to brave the mob of fans waiting to pounce on them the moment they left the hotel. The four boys stood around Brian and Mal as they negotiated a table like kids. Ringo and George were having a fake boxing match as John kicked at Paul's feet. Mal turned around, face impatient, as he silently told the boys to shut up. Brian had forgotten the room number and was having trouble getting a table, and the hotel was making it impossible to do anything.

Then, all of a sudden, a shudder shook through the building. John thought it was only a figment of his imagination, but by the look of the others' faces, it was very much real. "What was that?" Ringo asked. The men behind the counter opened his eyes in realisation, which made John's own heart drop. Another shudder rocked the building, and all John knew was he was shoved under a table with some others before blacking out.

He sat up, only seeing dark and a plank pushed to his back. It would have only been a few seconds he was out, nothing had changed, and he could still feel tremors from deep within the earth. They waited what felt like hours but what was probably only minutes for the rumbling to subside. It was the most frightening thing John had ever felt, a shake from the earth, it was so large and forceful and nothing could stop it.

He was the first out of the safety of the table, eager to find his friends. None of them were under the table with him, only a restaurant waiter. The restaurant host was telling him to wait, wait until they were sure the aftershocks were done and sure the building was stable enough to get out, but in true John fashion, he didn't listen. 

The building was not even a building anymore. It was still up, but only just, and debris and bits of wall were strewn around the room. John had to crawl through a space to get through the part of the room that had collapsed and into the other side. Everything was misty with the dust of the plaster and concrete that had fallen. John wondered if breathing that in was bad. He decided he didn't care.

As soon as he straightened from his crawling position, a tremor knocked him to the ground. John's heart stopped as he rolled under the nearest table. He was certain the roof would collapse on them. From under the table, he saw a black figure slumped on the floor. He crouched out from under his table and quickly made his way to the figure.

Paul was lying underneath that table. His eyes fluttered open as John shook him, "Paul, Paul get up," he looked frightened, and confused. He'd obviously been out for a bit, and Paul wasn't speaking so John pulled up his arms and legs to see if he was hurt. He didn't seem too hurt, just in shock, so he sat him up under the table. That was when Paul spoke, "My chest," he said, lifting up his shirt, and John saw the large gash across it, "what happened?" But John didn't have to ask, Paul pointed to a shard of broken glass shelf, with hints of red across the edge. The cut wasn't too deep, and the most of the blood was drying. He'd be okay, and John was hoping he'd be able to help him get the others. 

John stood up, and Paul followed, which was a good sign that he was alright. "Paul you'll have to help me find the others." John told Paul to go one way while he'd check the other. The pair separated, and John stumbled further through the room to find the others. 

He heard a voice shout, and he moved over that way. It was there that he found a piece of wall pinning a dark figure down. He bent down, "John?" the voice asked, and John nodded. He crouched down by Ringo and noticed the large fallen pillar that lay across Ringo, holding him to the ground. John winced, if this thing had fallen on him, who knew how broken he was? John tried his best to lift it, but it was too hard to get it off without rolling it off of Ringo and hurting him more. John saw a figure through the dust, and he called out to it. He thought it was probably Paul, looking for people to help. The figure came closer, and John saw that it wasn't Paul but Brian. He had dust and blood on his face, but otherwise looked fine. Without having to ask him to, Brian saw what was happening and grabbed the other end on the pillar before lifting it off of Ringo.

John wrapped his arms around Ringo, and tried to lift him. Ringo shouted in pain as Brian took his legs, but they managed to carry him under a table. "We'll have to leave you here, Rings, for now because we can't get you out. You're under a table, so you'll be fine if another earthquake happens," and with that, John left. He was still in shock, panic or realisation hadn't quite set in yet, and he was still in survival mode, looking to help anyone. It hadn't occurred to him that there was an outside world. Right now and in that dark and dusty room was where his mind was.

As he called out through the space, he saw heard Paul's voice, "Have you found anyone?" John turned around, "Yeah, I found Ringo and Brian," John pointed over to where he had left the pair, "Brian was alright," John sighed, "Ringo's probably got one or two broken legs, found him under a pillar," the men were silent for a bit, only now dawning on them how serious this situation had turned, "have you found anyone, Paul?" John asked, before Paul shook his head. They had to keep on going, looking for more people before it was too late.

The duo had been digging around the rubble of the dark room for about fifteen minutes when help first entered. The sirens blared from outside the walls, flashing lights seen through the gaps in the broken wall. A man came over to try and help him and Paul, who were the closest to the entrance, but John denied his help and instead sent him towards Ringo and Brian, who probably needed their help a bit more. John's shock was starting to lessen as panic set in. He started to become frantic, and he could see Paul did too.

He had found Paul, Ringo and Brian, and Paul had found Mal. Now they needed to find George. The two didn't discuss it, but unless he was unconscious, he was stuck in rubble somewhere. They looked under every table, but Paul and John were the only two in the room that didn't need immediate medical attention, and the only two people currently able to look for George. 

It had only just dawned on John that people in the city, in the building, and even in the room that probably died as a result of the earthquake. He felt himself begin to shiver, but he had to keep it together, he would never forgive himself if he didn't.

They kept digging. After John and Paul refused medical attention, the paramedics took Ringo, Mal, Brian and the other people that they found away to get more help, and Paul and John were alone. As they moved piles of rubble, John could see a tear spill out of Paul's eye. He always had been one for emotions, but John really wished he wouldn't, not now. John almost never showed his emotions, and now wasn't a good time to start. The search, although becoming tired and less frantic, didn't stop. They couldn't leave their friend to die here.

John suddenly felt angry at George, for not staying closer, for making this harder. He always had thought of George as a little brother, and so did the rest of the band, but while Paul was always acting as a role-model and carer for George, John was always annoyed and judgemental. He was only a kid, anyways. Yeah, sure he was only a few years younger, but what did he know? Obviously not enough to live. John hated himself for thinking that, and really wished he had more control over his thoughts. 

The search went on for what felt like hours. They had uncovered a large patch of the rubble, but there was still so much more they needed to do. John was glad the rescuers hadn't checked this building yet. They would have been taken out, whether they wanted to or not, because the building, or what was left of it, looked like it could collapse any minute now, but Paul and John couldn't just leave Georgie like that, and they worked as frantically as possible so they wouldn't have to.

It would have been an hour into their search that John first saw a hand underneath a block of rubble. He let out a gasp, and as Paul saw it, he made a strange strangled sound. Both boys quickly pulled the rubble and pieces of wall off of the mound, careful not to hurt whoever was under there. John couldn't tell who it was, but he wasn't even sure he wanted it to be George. The sight of the bloodied hand was so horrifying that part of him prayed it wouldn't be George, but the other part hoped it would, hoped he was in good enough condition to get him out of here.

They kept lifting pieces of ceiling off of him, until they reached a limp body laying side-on. The body was wearing the same clothes George had been wearing, but with extra blood. They pulled the broken piece of table off of his face, and John saw the same face he threw a slipper at only hours before. God, he really was so young. John cleared off all the pieces of rubble off of him. There was blood everywhere, but John didn't even care.

Paul rolled the body over on its side and checked its pulse. "He's alive," Paul said, uncertainty lacing his voice, "but he's got a really weak pulse," John sighed. He wasn't dead, "yet," his brain provided, but he ignored it this time. 

God, George's skin really was pale. As he moved his shoulders, his hand brushed George's, and he could feel how cold and clammy it was. John was about to move George out of the building when Paul stopped him, "Don't, he could have a neck injury," John sighed, "Aye, so-fucking-what, we need to get out of 'ere, this building'll collapse any time now," He was sick to death of Paul's rationality, so what if Geo couldn't walk again, it was that or they were all crushed to death. Paul just shook his head, "just don't okay, go find help." John nodded, he wasn't about to find Paul.

He was reluctant to leave Geo and Paul alone in the nearly-collapsed building, but Paul wasn't about to go, and there would be no other option. He ran out onto the streets to look for help, running from building to building. His legs started to sting, and it was then that he realised the blood running down from them. He didn't care, and he just kept running. He finally reached a rescue team working at the rubble at the base of a skyscraper, and called out to them to come help him and his friend.

The men looked very confused to see John Lennon screaming at them to come help him out, but they weren't about to deny him. John felt a bit bad for anyone who was trapped in that pile and was about to be rescued, but George needed help soon.

The men finally came, calling for a helicopter. Paul and John had to sit back while the paramedics tended to Geo. He looked so white and gone that if he wasn't already dead, John thought he would be soon.

The duo were carted away to the nearest hospital. This was going to be hell, trying to find Brian and Ringo. But at least John had Paul, and now all they had to do was pray that they'd have Geo as well.


	2. Chapter 2

He watched John as the doors closed. The helicopter flew off, holding him, Brian and Mal. It was odd how quickly these things could happen, one moment he's fake-boxing and laughing with his best friends, and the next he's lying under a fallen pillar. It was a relatively short trip to the nearest functional hospital, and it was so overcrowded. It was only then that Ringo truly saw the effects of an earthquake. People with bones poking out, serious gashes. He hadn't seen how badly his legs were damage, but he'd soon find out.

It was confusing, but Brian kept trying to re-assure him, saying "it's alright," and "it's over now." But it wasn't. Ringo snapped at him, and he knew he shouldn't have, because Brian was suffering just as much as he was, but he hadn't seen George or Paul before he was taken away, and, hell, the building could've collapsed already, they could be dead right now. He was the eldest of them, and although he didn't act it, it was his job to take care of them all, and he failed. 

His sudden outburst of hysteria caught the nurses' attention, and they gave him a quick dose of sedatives, leaving him trapped in his own mind.

Ringo wakes in a fit. He can't remember his thoughts, but he still sees the dusty and hazy room, yells and the floor rumbling.

_All of a sudden, his head is flooded with the recent memories. He recounts it all, he stood up with John and George, walked out. He spoke to Brian, and they all went to the restaurant. The floor started to shake. The six or seven restaurant staff that were trying to help John settled into action, and Ringo remembers hearing John gasp as he was pulled under a table. He saw Paul disappear with two waiters, pulled towards the back of the room. He was pulled back with Brian and Mal under the register. He saw staff instruct the people who were dining to get under the table. The last thing he remembered seeing before the electricity cut was George, alone in the room, finding where to go._

Ringo started to panic. He didn't know how long it had been, but it was definitely a while. "Brian!" He called out. Instead of Brian, Mal walked into the room with a bandage over his shoulder, 'Yeah?" he called responded. "have you heard from John or the others?" Ringo asked, his voice wavering with worry. Mal shook his head, looking sorry for Ringo, eyes heavy with worry.

_The lights cut out, he remembered, but the light of the afternoon cut through what once were windows and through the dust. Ringo could see the figures of others, dark silhouettes moving through the haze. He saw a shadow, exposed, running to a hiding place._

Ringo now remembered how he ended up under a pillar

_Something sparked, he remembered how it felt, like a supernatural urge, pushing him out of the safety of the table and to the aid of the figure. As he ran, he tripped on a twisted metal pipe that had fallen from the lights, cutting his hand on an invisible piece of glass. He lay there, about to get up, scared to touch the floor. A sickening crack sounded through the room, one of many, as a long slab of wall fell onto his legs, crushing him to the ground. _

The memory of the pain was so great that thinking about it caused him to feel something in his leg.

_He remembers seeing the figure under a table before everything went black._

All he could do now was wait. He didn't want to stress Brian out, so he didn't ask, but he wasn't sure how they'd find John if they didn't know what number to call.

Everything was a blur, just lying in bed, drifting in and out of consciousness. Every time he woke up, either Mal or Brian were by his bed. Nothing much happened in the few hours he spent laying there, and he didn't know whether to be glad or not. He couldn't just stay like this forever, but he didn't think he could deal if he woke up to the news that he was the only surviving member of the Beatles.

His questions were answered when he heard a loud voice trying to wake him up without hurting him. He opened his eyes, once again blinded by the bright and sterile lights. It was Mal, and by the looks of things, he had news. Mal's face of worry and concern made Ringo's heart stop. "They've got the others downstairs, that's all I know," He said. Ringo sighed, they were all still there, for now.


	3. Chapter 3

His head pounded in his skull. He felt a searing cut slash across his chest as thee earth shuddered, and he yelled in pain. He crawled under the relative safety of the table, trying to think of the best way out of here. He had momentarily forgotten his friends and the moments before the Earth shook as his body switched to survival.

He was still sitting there when a dark figure came up to him. John's harsh voice rang in his ears, "Paul, y'alright?" Paul just looked up at him, showed him the pain in his chest. He hadn't even looked at it yet, didn't even know if he was imagining it, but he didn't have the energy to look at it, so he just showed John. By the sounds John made, it was clear that there was something there.

John stood up, and Paul took it as a hint that he needed to as well, so he did. Paul's chest ached, but John's presence had reminded him of Ringo, John and George, and he'd need to help find the others. Just as if he'd spoken aloud, John spoke his thoughts, "Paul, you'll have to help me find the others," Paul agreed, separating from John, they'd cover more ground that way. 

The pain in his chest subsided as the emotional pain kicked in. It was scary to see other people, some of whom he'd never met, crawl out of the rubble with bones poking out of their skin and dislocated limbs. It was horrific, and all Paul could do to help was walk them out. 

Paul helped everyone he could find. It wasn't safe in this building, it was about to collapse, that much was obvious. It was terrifying seeing the things the earthquake had done to some people, having only seen John. He was worried for Ringo and George, and even Brian and Mal. They could have the same terrible injuries these people had, or worse.

After a while, Paul went to go find John. He'd helped everyone out of one area, and he thought they'd move faster if he worked with John. That was generally the case. "Have you found anyone?" Paul asked, the urgency making his voice waver. "Yeah, I found Ringo and Brian," John replied. He said something else after that, but Paul didn't really hear it, too focused in helping anyone. He'd feel terrible, maybe never recover, if he had been too late to save anyone. Thinking about it, he would definitely be too late to save people, and he would probably never recover from this anyways, but Paul tried to push those thoughts out of his head. He didn't need that right now.

Panic set in after the rescuers in the bright uniforms came into the building. They took Ringo, Brian and Mal and everyone else they found away. They still hadn't found George, and every second that they didn't find him was a second he spent dying. They tried to take Paul and John away, saying that the building would collapse. Paul knew what they were really saying, either they escape, and George dies, trapped in the rubble or unconscious under somewhere nobody had looked yet, or they all perished when the building collapsed. Paul would never forgive himself if he left his friend to die like this, and he knew John wasn't about to leave Georgie here, and the rescue team weren't about to waste time with them.

At this point, both their hands were bloodied as they basically threw rocks away as their search for George became frantic. Paul felt himself begin to tire, but he couldn't stop, he wouldn't stop. That's when he felt a tear fall down his face. he wasn't even aware that he was crying until he felt it land on his arm. They kept pummelling away at the rubble, worry growing as the minutes ticked on.

Paul felt himself choked out a sob as he lifted a rock and saw a pale, bloody hand resting on the floor. He was surprised he even saw it, crushed under another rock. John saw it too, he made a gasping sound and wasted no time lifting a pole off of the mound of rubble sitting over the body. Paul wasn't sure it was George, and he didn't know what he'd do if it wasn't.

He let out another choked gasp as Paul helped John lift and throw the blocks of rubble off of the figure. George was so pale, and lying in a small pool of blood. The blood didn't scare Paul as much as the stillness of George. He was surely dead. Paul dropped to George's side and put his head against his chest. The beat of his heart was so weak that he wasn't even sure it was real.

It was funny, just some time ago they were all standing around the lobby, and now they were standing in a deserted, falling building, facing the very real possibility of losing George. Paul was snapped out of his thoughts by John's movement towards George, trying to lift him. Paul stopped him, because if there was anything he'd learnt, it was that you couldn't move someone with a broken neck or back. Paul didn't know what was wrong with George, and he didn't want to test it. But then again, what good would that be if they were all crushed. Personally, Paul didn't really care if he himself died, what would it matter to him anymore, he wouldn't feel it. But it would matter if John died, and that was an option if they waited in the building. 

Paul still didn't want to move George though, he didn't know if he even had the strength after lifting the rubble, and he certainly didn't want to hurt George any more. He got John to go run for help, and that way, if the building collapsed, John might be okay.

He assessed George the best he could. He was the palest Paul had ever seen him, which was scary, to say the least. He looked over at where George was buried, and he honestly didn't know how he was still alive. The heavy block of rubble would have crushed him if he hadn't fallen in between other pieces, which held must've held it up, like a stone coffin.

Paul's body was overflowing with anxiety because George might die, he didn't know where Ringo was, John might be crushed out of the streets and he himself may be crushed before he could tell everybody how much he loved them. He tried so hard to look at the positive side, George is alive, John wasn't hurt and Ringo was safe, but it just wasn't enough. 

He felt a searing pain across his own chest again, but he didn't want to look at it. He didn't want to worry himself more than he was already, and in all honesty, he couldn't really be bothered. He sat down beside George, leaning against the broken table as a sudden wave of fatigue hit him. He supposed he was tired, and instead of fighting it, followed it to the sweet bliss of sleep.

He felt his shoulder nearly break as he was shook to life by John, "Paul! Paul, wake up! Jesus Christ!" John was shaking him harder than ever, and Paul opened his eyes in an attempt to get him to stop. It worked, and as John stood up from his crouching position, he held out a hand to help Paul up, "Are you alright?" Paul nodded in apology, but he was glad to at least get some rest. As he stood up, the pain in his chest, almost unbearable, nearly made him fall back to the ground. He would have fallen back into the table if John hadn't caught him. "Jesus, Paul, y'alright?" John asked, worry heavy in his tone. Paul nodded, "just a little light headed, y'know," as he stood back up straight.

"Had a terrible time finding the both of you, kept calling out and couldn't find an answer." John told him. Paul felt bad, it would have been hard to find them here, in somewhere so dark and unfamiliar. Paul looked around him, "Where's George, then?","He's over there with all those men." They both looked in the direction, where they could see a faint outline of people in high-vis and bright white suits crowding a table or stretcher or whatever.

"Paul?" John asked uncertainly. Paul looked at John expectantly, and waited for John to speak. When John took a long time to speak, he was either about to say something undeniably sweet, or something terrifying. _Now is not the time for sweet things, _Paul reminded himself as he prepared for the horrific thing John would say next. John opened his mouth, looking over in George's direction, but then he closed it, hiding his thoughts from the world. "Never mind."

Paul hadn't really seen the extent of George's injuries, only his pale figure, still covered in bloody clothes. He was still in his coat, so he couldn't have been sure, but he didn't look to be too cut up, no bones poking out or limbs ripped off. _But sometimes you can't see the worst injuries _Paul reminded himself.

Paul stood over to the side, tears on his face. John didn't have tears, but he had the saddest and most terrified expression Paul had ever seen him wear. Paul nodded, "was he awake? Did you see him awake?" was all Paul could ask, as he leant against the table. He watched John's every expression as his vision went blurry around the edges, and he was losing focus. John's expression told him that George wouldn't wake soon. The pain in his chest stopped hurting as the last thing he saw was John's feet.

~~~~~~~~~~

He woke again in a bright room, people rushing back and forth. He was lying on a couch, next to John. He was not in a hospital bed, which was odd, because they were in a hospital. John saw he was awake, and went up to him. "what happened?" Paul asked, not being able to remember anything. "Well first of all, you fainted, so I took you into a helicopter, and they took you here, where we're now waiting for you to wake up so we can see where a Mr. Brian Epstein is." Paul had no time to think through that as he was pulled up by John. "C'mon, we've got to go find Brian." Paul winced at the sudden movement, but that went undetected by John.

John had lost his happiness and spirit that he'd had just that morning, and as they walked out of the corridors, Paul found himself rethinking over everything he might lose. But all of that was lost as he stepped foot out of the corridors, and Paul realised why they weren't in beds or weren't being seen by medics. The entire city was at that one hospital, it seemed, and people were out in stretcher is the main hall, people with ripped limbs and gaping holes in their bodies. Paul knew he wouldn't get any medical help, that he'd refuse it if it came, because of all these people who definitely needed it more than him.

He had never seen John this on-edge. The pair stood at the back of the longest queue Paul thought he had ever seen. The poor receptionists must be drowning under everybody. John didn't seem to care how long the queue was, he was just focused on keeping his face on the floor. Paul thought it was silly, that everyone was too engrossed in the tragedies that had unfolded today to be on the lookout for the Beatles, but Paul knew how horrid it would be to be caught in an impromptu crowd, how hard it would be to get to Brian if that happened, and so he kept his eyes trained on his feet as well.

It took an awfully long time to get to the front, and Paul prayed that the receptionists didn't notice John Lennon when he asked if a Mr. Brian Epstein was here. Luckily, she didn't look up at him at all, and soon they were told Brian's room number and phone. "We're going to need to wait in queue for a telephone also," John said, leading the both of them over to the payphone queue.

Paul was done with this, all of this. Tonight, he was supposed to have a show. Now look at where he was. He couldn't even feel his chest any more, but it felt like lead, and his own breaths were becoming shorter and shorter. "Are y'alright? You're breathin' a bit much," John asked, and Paul just nodded. It was nothing, and plus, what were they going to do anyways? There were so many people waiting for treatment, they weren't going to push Paul in front because he had a cut on his chest.

They finally reached the phone, and John called the room. Brian picked up, and from what Paul could hear, sounded beyond relieved. John didn't say anything else than telling him to meet them. They waited in the plastic chairs for Brian to come find them.

All of this felt like a dystopian dream, and it had never occurred to Paul that maybe there would be a time where they weren't the fab four, where one of them no longer existed. Paul could feel the sides of his vision darkening, but struggled to stay up. It wouldn't be fair on John, anyways. He probably just needed water or something, he'd be fine.

Brian looked beyond stressed, even more than John, as he walked over to them. He looked confused, and it took Paul a short while to figure out that it was probably because the group of two was supposed to be a group of three. "Brian!" John called out, as he and Paul gave him a hug. "How's Ringo?" Paul asked, "You can ask him yourself," Brian replied. "Where's George?" Paul had heard that worried tone many times today. John's face fell at the mention of George, "I'll speak to you in a bit. Could you take us up to your room?" John looked flustered, and Paul knew John would want the privacy of Ringo's room to tell Brian about George. 

They made their way up to the room, John and Paul hugging Ringo, asking him about his leg and greeting Mal. "Where's George?" Mal asked. John's face hardened, and the room went quiet with anxiety, "As soon as we got here they took him away," John said, "He's not good, when Paul and I found him we thought he was already dead," Brian looked shocked, and even _angry_, and Paul didn't even dare to look at Ringo and Mal's faces. He tried to keep his eyes trained in one spot as he remembered the rush to find George, the way he looked under the rubble, the fact that he could be dead now and they wouldn't even know. Paul heard shouting, John and Brian, probably, and he stood up to try and rid the black from the corner of his vision. Even more worrying was thee ringing in his ears and the fact that he could only make out one or two words of the argument that was going on next to him. "You LEFT the room? Now how are we supposed to find him?" Brian's shout filled his ears under the constant ringing, as Paul only saw black as he collided with the floor.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everybody for reading! The comments and kudos all mean so much to me xx
> 
> Credit to @nyxaura, they helped me so much with this chapter and I'm really grateful :))

Everything was just so surreal . The once solid world had been destabilised; walls that had previously acted as immovable truths had collapsed around them, dust, rubble, and broken bodies were all that were left in the destruction’s wake. John  did as Paul instructed; he turned away from his friends and sprinted as fast as his weary legs could take him. Bursting into the sunlight and out of the collapsed building, John  called out for the first people he saw. He knew he had to be fast, to scream at these men in the white and high-vis suits to come help him. Nothing seemed real, and it was never a problem John thought he'd ever have to face. He never thought he'd have to run to look for rescuers to help him because his friend was smashed to pieces by falling rubble. 

He had always tried not to cry in front of people, and just the sheer absurdity of the whole situation was the only thing keeping his floodgates from opening. He got the men to follow, taking them over to the building. He crawled in through a broken hole in the wall, and as soon as he was hit by the dust and shadows, he knew he wouldn't be able to find Paul. He walked through the space, calling out Paul's name.  John’s pace picked up as renewed panic seeped into his bones. He could barely see through the dust, but his eyes scoured the floor for any signs of where Paul and George were. The volume of his voice rose, threatening to crack. Amidst all the chaos, John felt himself beginning to break down. He was so worried about George and Paul, and frustrated he couldn’t get an answer from the latter. In the rush, John had to pause and hold himself up using the edge of a broken table. He racked his brain for any information of his friends’ location, but his memory was just as hazy as the air around him. The only thing that came to mind was a large, load bearing pillar-- _ they were beside a pillar _ . 

John’s eyes scoured the room, and caught sight of the crumbling pillar in the distance. He moved as quickly as he could towards it. He moved along the wall, checking under every table. His own voice rang in his ears as he called out for Paul, and even George. After a few torturous minutes of searching, John stumbled upon a familiar table with the slumped silhouettes of limp bodies beneath it. Frantic to see his friends’ faces, John scrambled to the ground and was greeted by the sight of Paul and George lying unconscious beside each other. His breath hitched in his chest--simultaneously elated and terrified to see the motionless bodies of his friends.

John couldn't make much of George in the shadows, but he knew he was there, and he called for the emergency to come get him. He watched as they lifted George's body, devoid of life, over to a stable stretcher. He could see George's body, there was blood coming out of his ears and as they cut away at his top, he could see the deep bruises littering his chest, and he was pale beyond belief. He looked dead already, and John could do nothing but watch.

His attention shifted to Paul, who was out cold. John was  panicked, and couldn’t bear the thought of going through this alone. He needed Paul’s comfort and reassurance, he needed Paul. He gently shook the other man by the shoulders to rouse him. When Paul didn’t immediately regain consciousness, John’s soft attempts to nudge his friend awake became more violent. Screams rose to John’s lips unbidden. They became louder, and he refused to relent and step away from his best friend, his brother.

John only noticed how rough he was when Paul’s eyes cracked open, and he felt Paul’s weak grip on his arm, begging for him to stop. John stopped, feeling a tiny surge of optimism as Paul struggled his way to consciousness. “Where are we?” Paul mumbled, barely audible. John ignored the question, he didn’t have time to explain it all. John looked at Paul’s face, with eyes wide open, taking everything in. 

“Where’re the others?” Paul choked out. 

“I’m not sure.” Was all John could manage to respond. He held a hand out to Paul, helping him to his feet.  Paul stood there, swaying for less than a second, before his knees buckled. John instinctively put out a hand to catch him, barely keeping his friend on his feet.  _ Great _ , John thought,  _ Now he's going to start fainting, _ John really hoped Paul would regain his composure soon, that they wouldn't take him away, because he didn't know how he'd cope by himself.  Suddenly, a new wave of fear washed over John. He could feel his tiny light of optimism quickly fading; the facade of fortitude he had hastily built was beginning to fall apart as everything sank in, and he didn’t want to have a breakdown here .

He turned away, looking out the door to see a helicopter waiting at the entrance. The rescue party had told him on their way to the building that they would have to take a helicopter back to the hospital because the roads weren't safe to drive on. He turned back to Paul, just in time to catch him lose his focus and fall to the floor.

His mind immediately switched to action mode, as he pulled Paul off the floor. He tried to lift him to his shoulders but he couldn't, and so he dragged Paul to the helicopter. He strapped Paul and then himself in. He really prayed that Paul was only stressed, and the thought of him being dangerously injured hadn't quite occurred to him. The rescue party carried George in on a temporary stretcher. John didn't know how they managed to fit them all in the small space. Sitting still, John's mind had nowhere left to go, and was cornered by the sight of George, pale and lifeless, in front of him, and the barely conscious Paul beside him. He looked out of the window, down at everything, in an attempt to rid his mind of all the negative and fearful thoughts, but only reminding himself of the destruction and death that had just happened.

They got to the hospital, and more paramedics brought out a stretcher to take George in. Paul had somewhat regained his footing, but he was by no means steady. John  hitched the other man’s arm over his shoulder, bearing most of his weight so he and Paul could stumble wherever they were being directed. John just wanted Paul to return to normal, to block that fact out of his mind, pretend Paul was okay and not fading in and out of a near-comatose state. John also really didn’t want Paul to be taken away by the doctors, he couldn’t be without Paul, his friend was his one anchor left as everything else tumbled around them. He was worried that one of the doctors would turn around and take him away. Thankfully, the doctors quickly wrote off Paul’s state as shock. They were too focused on trying to keep George alive to pay the other two much attention. It felt like forever, walking through all of the corridors and rooms, carrying Paul’s weight. They turned another corner, and a man broke off from the group with George and told John and Paul to follow him into a room. John didn't want to, he didn't want them to take George, and he was worried he might never see him again, but he honestly was getting tired of practically carrying Paul, and they probably wouldn't be able to walk for much longer, so he obliged and walked into the room.

The man in the white coat indicated for John  and Paul to take a seat on the couch. The room was set up like a sterile lounge. John lowered Paul onto the couch first before falling into it himself. "I'm Dr. Jones," He started  brusquely , sitting in the seat opposite the couch, "Is that your friend over there?"  The doctor motioned in the direction that George had disappeared. John nodded  numbly . "Well, is there anyone who can fill out the forms for him?" John nodded  again, seemingly incapable of forming actual words . John considered getting Brian, but there was no way he'd be able to drag Paul back out to call him, and the doctor probably didn't have time to wait for them to get Brian anyways. "I can fill them out for him," John  finally found his voice as he was handed the clipboard of forms. He scribbled out all he knew about George, which was an awful lot seeing as the lads had spent so much time together. "I'm not sure what his blood type is." The doctor only smiled, "that's alright, we'll run a blood test anyways," John had handed the forms back to him.

"We'll send in some people to give you a check up, make sure you're okay, but there's quite a few people so it may be a while until they're able to make it here." The doctor smiled sympathetically before standing up and leaving the room. John  sat on the stiff hospital couch, a dazed Paul sat slumped slightly forward, upright but nearly motionless. Unable to bring himself to examine his friend’s pale, blood-smudged face, John resorted to searching the ceiling for anything of interest. He  gave the newspaper  a cursory glance , but his mind wasn't focused  enough to make sense of the gaudy  _ Vogue _ and  _ Petticoat _ magazines that sat on the table a few feet away from him. One of the titles caught John’s eye and his stomach lurched--one of the covers featured Pattie Boyd, the girl George fancied. John quickly averted his gaze before the reminder of George became too much; he couldn’t bear to keep replaying the images of his broken and bloodied bandmate being hauled away by frantic doctors.  _ Nothing like an unplanned trip to the hospital with your half-dead mates to remind you how much you despise the bloody places _ , the unwelcome thought floated through John’s head . John considered leaving the room, but he couldn't just leave Paul, and he knew he wouldn't be able to find his way back  through the maze of white hallways once he left.  Despite all instincts screaming at him to flee the scene, John remained rooted in his seat. 

Distracted by the blood pounding in his ears, John nearly didn’t register Paul’s unresponsive form suddenly slumping against his side. “Fuck,” John breathed quietly, “oh fuck, shit, christ.” He placed a bracing hand on his friend’s shoulder, manoeuvring the other man’s body as gently as possible until he was lying horizontal, head cradled carefully in John’s arms. It appeared as though Paul had slipped into sleep or another state of unconsciousness while John had busied himself with distractions. Cold tendrils of fear had begun creeping their way through his chest, not for George this time, but for Paul. At first glance, the man could pass as healthy--if slightly exhausted and traumatised--but the irregular and shallow breaths that escaped Paul’s purple-tinted lips could betray something more sinister. It wasn’t until upon closer inspection of his friend’s face that John spotted a small amount of dried blood in the corners of his mouth. John silently prayed to whatever deity held power up above that Paul simply split his lip or bit his tongue, giving the blood a benign cause.

John looked over at Paul, who was still out cold, and terror washed over him like a wave. He was all alone, in this cold room, waiting to know if his friend would even live. He didn't know what was wrong with Paul, and even though they were in a hospital, nobody would be able to help if Paul wasn't, well, okay. He didn't know where Brian was, didn't even know how to get to them, or even if they were okay. But he still wasn't able to cry, which made him even more terrified, he wasn't able to do anything.

He had been lying like that for the better part of an hour when he heard rustling of the rough couch pillows. He looked up, and Paul was opening and closing his eyes slowly. "Paul?" John called out, and Paul's face turned towards him. Paul asked what had happened, and John had summarised him fainting and the helicopter room. He didn't mention George, didn't even think he would be able to speak about him just yet. "Come on, we're going to find Brian," John said, because Brian would know what to do, and John most certainly didn't. 

They walked through the twisting halls, John too tired to even try and remember the way, and they ended up in the main entrance. The place was just as packed as it was when he entered, and the line for the receptionist desk wound through the whole room. John joined the back, he didn't care how long it took, he needed to find if Brian was in the hospital.

He kept his face trained on the floor. The chances of anybody recognising him were fairly slim, because his face was covered in dust, and people had much more important things in their heads than where The Beatles might be, but he couldn't imagine the hell he'd have to go through if a crowd of fans decided to bug them. 

It took absolutely forever to reach the front of the queue, but they did, and John prayed nobody would recognise his voice. "Brian Epstein?" John asked, and he was given a room number to call. He'd have been angry that they wouldn't call him for them, but the receptionists really were drowning, and so John just turned and stood in the equally as long line for the telephones. He looked over at Paul, who didn't really seem to be all there. He just looked at his feet, his eyes all dreary. He really did wish they could see someone soon, because as sure as he was that Paul would be okay, he wanted to make sure, because the last thing he needed right now was more doubt in his mind.

"Paul, y'alright?" John asked. There was really no point, what would they do if Paul wasn't alright. Nobody would be able to help them for a while, but he wanted to at least be ready to catch Paul if he knew that he might fall. Paul weakly nodded his head. John took that as a no, because Paul would do just about anything to not be a burden, and that was about as close to a cry for help that John would ever get from Paul. He finally reached the front of the line, and called Brian's number.

It took one ring, and John was praying Brian would pick up. "Yes?" someone said anxiously on the other end of the receiver. "Brian? It's John," John found himself speaking rushedly as well. John thought he could hear a sigh on the other end of the receiver, "We're right near the receptionist’s desk, and we're not able to get to your room unless you come get us.", "Ok, I'll be down in a bit." John put down the receiver and walked to the plastic chairs that ran along the wall of the hospital. Paul sat down beside him, and neither of them spoke to one another.

John spotted Brian walking down the corridor, and he stood up, Paul following. "Brian!" John called and ran over to him. For all the times he said he didn't need Brian, he found out that he actually really did. Brian looked confused, "Where's George?" John’s face darkened at the mention of George. He really didn't think he had the energy to speak about George right there, and he was honestly a bit worried he'd have a breakdown in the reception. "Could you just take us to the room, please?" John's voice was urgent, he needed to rest.

They made their way into the room after walking through many corridors and halls. He didn't know how Paul managed to get through it all, he nearly fainted himself. He walked into the room, and saw Ringo lying down on the bed, and Mal in a chair beside him. John greeted both Ringo and Mal before standing beside Paul against the wall. "Where's George?" Mal asked, and he looked at Brian and Ringo's own expectant faces. "Paul and I found him under rubble, and, well, they airlifted us here, and that was the last I saw him." John was choking up just speaking about it. His explanation was pretty vague and he knew from the others' faces that it wasn't sufficient, but he just didn't have the energy to speak about it any more. "Well, is he okay?" Ringo asked. John met his gaze, and could see that Ringo was just as scared as he was. John fought back tears as the image of George's pale outline laying deathly still on a stretcher reappeared in his head. He looked at the floor, he couldn't cry now. "When we found him," John took a breath, he really didn't want to say what he was about to, "No, he was really bad when we found him."

Brian stood up from his chair, "Where is he now?" John took a breath, "He's downstairs in one of the rooms, the doctors left us in a room when they were taking him, so we came out to find you." Brian's face hardened. He raised his eyebrows "So you just left him there?" John realised what he had done. "How the HELL are we supposed to find him now? Do you even remember where he is?" Brian didn't normally get this angry at John, he was normally calmer when he was angry, but the terror of the whole situation had really put them all on edge. "Well what was I supposed to do?" John knew he shouldn't have left George, but he really didn't know what else he could have done. Brian opened his mouth to yell at John again, but they were interrupted by a thud against the floor.

John's brain took entirely too long to process what had happened, and he just stood there like an idiot as Mal raced to Paul's side. Paul had fainted again, and it was all his fault, that he didn't notice that Paul was hurt too. John's eyes started watering. He couldn't take it. Brian rushed to Mal and helped pick him up. They were trying to wake him up, and John was only standing there like an idiot. "Call for help," Ringo told him, and John walked over to the buzzer and pressed it.

He went to Paul's side. "He kept doing this in the helicopter," John choked. "Jesus John, you didn't tell anyone?" John mind started spinning, it was all his fault, he had left Paul, and now he was lying unconscious on the floor.

His head started spinning, and just the sight of Paul made him panic. He was shaking Paul again, trying to wake him up, his voice cracking as he shouted for Paul to wake up. Mal pulled John up. "He's alright John, we've just got to get a doctor." Mal left his standing as he crouched back beside Paul and sat him upright. John's eyes filled with tears and his mind raged with self-anger and worry. He needed to move, so he stormed into the bathroom. Everything was just too much. He could see his tear stained and dirty face, and in his mind the pictures of his unconscious friends filled his head. He tried his hardest to shut it all down, but he was feeling too much. He looked at himself in the eye through the mirror, right before his fist connected with the cold surface and shattered.

"John!" Mal called out, and seconds later, Brian rushed into the room, seeing a broken mirror and john sinning on the floor with his bloodied fist. "Jesus Christ John," He said under his breath, and John could see the panic in his tired eyes. John just sat there, looking at the ceiling, as Brian tried to clean up. He took a bandage and wrapped John's hand in it. "I'm going to go get a doctor for Paul," Brian said, and as he left the room, John stood up to follow. Brian was about to tell him to sit back down, but something in John's expression said he wouldn't give in that easily.

They left Mal to look after Ringo and Paul and set out to find a doctor. Brian was walking faster than normal, and John just followed. He stopped almost every nurse to ask if there was a doctor free, if they could get some help. John was really happy to have Brian stay strong, because he knew he couldn't. 

Eventually they found a nurse, and Brian gave her the room number. Brian was about to mention John's hand, but he waved it off. Paul needed the help more than he did. "We should go see if we can find George now," Brian said as they headed back towards the receptionists' line. John started to feel really bad, how Brian now had to deal with Paul, who fainted, Ringo, whose probably broken a leg, or worse, George, who was on the edge of death and lost, and John, who in his tantrum and self-pity, smashed his hand through a mirror. 

They waited in the line for the receptionists' desk for longer than last time. John waited for Brian to finish getting the details before standing up and following him through more doors. "The doctor is free in thirty minutes, and he knows where George is." Brian said. Although Brian was still relatively very calm and collected, John noticed him nervously tapping his knee up and down. John himself was biting his nails.

The men sat in silence when a man in a white coat approached them. "Hello, I'm Dr. Jones, are you here for Mr. George Harrison?" John noticed that it sounded like they were at a casual clinic instead of a hospital waiting to know if George was alive or not. After speaking to Brian, the doctor sat opposite them, wearing a sad look on his face. He had probably seen tragedies today, John prayed that George wasn't one of them. "Your friend was suffering from severe internal bleeding and damage, and he's under operation, but we're not sure of the extent of the damage. We're not sure what will happen, and the only option was high-risk surgery," John swallowed as his head plummeted into anxiety. It wasn't his fault, he knew it, but George really could die. He looked at Brian, and Brian looked shocked. At least John knew George was pretty bad, Brian had had no idea. 

The doctor was on call again, and Brian left him the room's telephone number, so they could get updates on George. There was nothing else they could do. John felt so helpless, his friend was dying, or in surgery that could easily kill him, and he could just sit out there and pray. Neither of the men were happy to leave the emergency ward, but they made their way back to Ringo's room.

They walked in to see Ringo alone. Ringo's face was red from crying, and John felt sorry that he had left him alone. "Hey Rings, where's Mal?" Brian asked. Ringo told them he was in Paul's room, two rooms down. Brian told John to stay with Ringo, and although John wanted to go see Paul, he knew he couldn't leave Ringo alone, so he took a seat beside his bed.

"Hey Ritchie, how're you feeling?" John asked. "Yeah, me legs hurt but I'll live." The room went quiet for a bit. It was normally quiet between John and Ringo, but never uncomfortable. That was the best thing about Ringo, he was always warm and comforting. "Are you okay, John?" he finally heard Ringo say, "Yeah, me hand hurts and my head's not quite right." Both men nodded. There was another pause. Neither of them needed to say anything, they both understood each other without words. "Nothing's really okay, Ritchie, it was all my fault." Ringo shook his head, "none of this was your fault, John, it was just a terrible thing that happened." John knew that Ringo was only trying to comfort him, but it wasn't working, and John just felt worse, "You didn't see George." John looked at the floor as he wiped away his tears with the side of his shirt. He looked up and saw Ringo was crying as well. "Is he alright?" John thought that was the stupidest question he'd ever heard, but he didn't say so, "no." was all John could say. "Paul and I found him we thought he was dead. They're operating on him now, internal bleeding they said,"  _ and it was all my fault _ John thought. Ringo cried a bit more. 

The men sat together, crying quietly, when Ringo piped up again. "It was all my fault," was all he said. "What are you talking about, you got injured, none was your fault." If anything, John thought it was his fault Ringo got injured. "No, I ran under a pillar trying to help people. I shoulda run when I saw it falling, but I stood there like an idiot, and now I can't help anyone." Ringo's eyes flooded again, and John could see the emotion in his eyes, John spoke, "I'm never going to see George again, if he dies, and I didn't take enough care of Paul and now he's poorly too." but Ringo shook his head, "But I'm supposed to be the one taking care of all of you, out of us, and you always act in charge and Paul always acts like the mum, and George is probably the smartest out of us, but I'm the eldest. I might never see George again." Ringo looked in his eyes. John felt sorry for Ringo, who had been sitting here for hours, and only now did he find out what was wrong with George. He and George were always super close, and now he didn't even know if the youngest was alive, and was only just hearing news about him. He gave Ringo a hug. It was comforting to have someone's arms around him, and he lay next to Ringo in the thin hospital bed. He was twisted into an uncomfortable knot, but it was the most comfortable he had been all day, with the older boy's hand around his shoulders.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to say I'm sorry for it taking so long because I kind of forgot about if for a bit, and I'm also sorry it's a little bit boring. Ipromise it will get so much more interesting 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading xx :)

He sat in bed, looking at the magazines. His hands were shaking, he was anxious beyond belief. He kept reminding himself that it was alright. Brian had only just left the room to get the other three, everyone was okay, it was over. But Ringo couldn’t shake the feeling that something was out of place. He looked back down at the pages of the magazine he picked up, seeing an article that was of no interest to him. He skimmed the pages, looking for anything that could be of interest to him. A page caught his eye as he flipped through it, catching a glimpse of The Beatles out the front of a building, taken a few days ago. He put down the magazine. He decided he was done with the magazine reading and put it back by his beside.

“Hey Mal?” He said quietly. Mal looked up from his own magazine, smiling softly at Ringo, nodding. Ringo suddenly couldn’t think of a conversation topic, and instead just looked up at the curtains. “Hey Ringo,” He heard Mal say, practically in a whisper. Ringo tapped at his bedsheets with his fingers, “What do you think’s taking Brian so long?” Ringo asked. He was full of nerves, and dying to make sure the others were okay. “It’s only been ten minutes.” Mal answered back, flicking his wrist to catch the time on his watch. Ringo nodded, it felt like an eternity since Brian left.

The worst and best outcomes Ringo could conjure raced through his mind. The best scenario being that everyone was relatively unscathed, minor trauma was definitely undeniable, there was no doubt the whole debacle would leave them shaken, but nothing too troubling, and they would get the week off, their shows being cancelled. Definitely the best case scenario. The worst scenario Ringo could bear to think of was broken bones, maybe even a coma. He couldn’t even think how bad that would be, a coma, maybe broken arms. Ringo knew he’d broken a leg , but it was different for him, he didn’t need them as much to play, but the others needed all their limbs in functioning order, they wouldn’t be able to play any shows otherwise. Sure, he enjoyed a week off, but not being able to play for any longer than that, wasting the tour. Their budget was tight as it were, they couldn’t afford losing this tour, it could break the band, and then where would he be? 

A loud bang across from him snapped Ringo out of his spiral of worry, and a dishevelled Brian led the others into the room. Ringo watched the other two boys filing into the room. “Where’s George?” Mal asked, now standing beside Brian. The room suddenly turned tense, and Ringo went solid, mind racing as the silence became deafening. John’s hoarse voice rose, “As soon as we got here they took him away,” Ringo’s heart twisted in a knot as he saw John’s face filled with emotion. John muttered something else about how terrible George looked, and Ringo switched his gaze between Mal and Brian and Paul and John. 

He looked out of the window, trying to hold back tears. He kept his eyes trained on the light of the canvas curtains, but was snapped out of his trance by Brian’s harsh voice, full of conviction. He was yelling at John, and Ringo sighed. He turned to look back at the curtains, trying to tune out the arguing happening across the room, where his stupor was once again interrupted by a loud thud. He thought John might’ve hit Brian, but saw Paul lying against the floor, with Brian and Mal rushing to his side.

Paul was awfully pale, and Ringo felt guilty he hadn’t noticed it sooner. But before he had any time to dwell over that, he heard a deafening crash from the small bathroom that John just walked into. Ringo’s heart basically stopped as Brian shot over to him, tending to John’s now bleeding arm. Ringo could have screamed he was so stressed, everyone was in pain and there was absolutely nothing he could do. He was watching his whole world crumble in front of him. 

Mal pulled Paul into a sitting position and Brian and John left the room to go get a doctor. Ringo pulled up the magazine to his face, hiding the tears of stress and worry that slowly rolled down his cheeks from anyone who might see them. He read about some American celebrity’s wedding and looked at the advertisements for watches and cologne, anything to distract his mind from everything that happened.

His mind drifted away, and into the material world, sheltering him from all of the suffering and tension around him, when he was pulled back into reality once again, this time by a group of nurses and doctors with a stretcher. The doctor spoke to Mal while the nurses lifted Paul onto the bed. Ringo couldn’t hear anything from their conversation, but he was temporarily distracted from his magazine as the sorrowful image of Paul’s motionless figure being taken out of the room harshly brought him back to reality.

It felt like an eternity, waiting there. He tried to distract himself with anything he could think of, but soon he ran out of distractions, and instead his mind compiled everything that could go wrong and had gone wrong. He beat himself up for not being there for the others when they needed him most. He felt more hot tears run down his face as he tries to think of what the world would be like without his friends. 

Now exhausted from his anxiety, Ringo closed his eyes and rested his head on the uncomfortable hospital cushions, slipping into sleep. 

_ The shadow ran into the supposed safety of a dining table. He remembers looking across the room, at the large pile of rubble crashing through the table to the ground. He hadn’t had the time to process the image, let alone call out, when the weight above him pressed harder, and he felt himself slip away into the unconscious. _

He sat upright in a jolt, trying to rid himself of the bad memories that crept up on him in his dreams. He dried his cheeks, which were still wet from tears, and looked around the room. Nobody was back yet, and Ringo had no way of contacting them. There was a phone across from him on the wall, but Ringo couldn’t stand. George, Paul and even John could be dead right now, and he wouldn’t even know. The tears threatened to return as harmful thoughts re-entered Ringo’s mind. He knew that even if, by some sliver of a chance, all four boys got out of this mess alive, the chance that one of them had a life-changing injury was almost impossible to avoid. Even if, by some miracle from heaven, they were still able to play and live as they did before, they’d at least need one or two more weeks off, which could ruin the tour. Even if it didn’t, which it definitely would, they wouldn’t be able to afford the cost of the hospital fees. The band would surely have to break up. 

Brian and John entered the room with a slam, which was John’s fault, slamming the door so hard that Ringo thought it might have come off of its hinges. Ringo knew John didn’t mean it, he just got violent when he was anxious. Brian moved his mouth, and then looked at Ringo expectantly, and it took Ringo a few seconds to process his request, “Paul’s two rooms down, 145E” he recited, having written the room number down on his hand. John turned to follow Brian, but stopped at the door and walked towards Ringo.   
  


John sat at the end of the bed, his nose still red and eyes still puffy. He lifted one of his hands and dragged it across his cheeks in an attempt to rid his face of any tears. They sat in silence for a short while. Ringo was tempted to ask after George and Paul, he had no idea how they were doing, if they were even alive, but he was wary of John in this state. He knew John was quick to snap, and so he tried not to provoke him. He turned his attention back onto the thin curtain. In all the time he had been lying there, he hadn’t opened the curtain to see out the window, he had only watched the streams of light that shot through the curtain and spread out on his sheets. 

He had his eyes trained on these tendrils of light when he heard a voice next to him. He hadn’t expected John’s voice to sound as weak as it did, he had never heard him sound so defeated before in his life. It broke him to hear John’s guilt. Ringo asked about Paul and George, but John hadn’t seen them either. They sat together for what felt like hours, soaking in one another’s company. Ringo felt it was important, after what just happened, he didn’t know when he would see John next, every moment was precious. Eventually both boys drifted off, John lying on top of Ringo.

He opened his eyes again, noticing that John’s weight across his chest had gone. Ringo searched the room for any company. Ringo picked up a new magazine that had been left on his bedside table. He meant to ask Brian for a newspaper, and made a note to ask him as soon as he saw him next.

According to the clock opposite his bed, Ringo had been reading for twenty minutes. It was dreadfully boring, there was nothing to read. He took the pad of paper and pen next to his bed, and scrawled a note for Brian before placing the paper back on the table and lying with his head on the pillow. He didn’t know where anybody was, he didn’t even know what day it was. The analog clock only told him the time. He didn’t feel tired, and his body wouldn’t sleep, but he certainly didn’t feel like doing anything. He felt numb, like he was suspended in time. He wondered how long until this all blew over, what would be left afterwards, or even if it would all blow over. He wondered if George was dead. Surely Brian or Mal would have found a way to tell him. He closed his eyes to rid his mind of those thoughts.

~~~~~~~

A week had passed since the disaster. Brian had declined Ringo’s request for a newspaper, claiming it to be too distressing for him, but Ringo had gotten one off of John, who had nicked one from the waiting room. Ringo wished he had listened to Brian. The first two articles were on the huge earthquake, the people dead and missing. That was distressing enough. He flipped the page, where he was confronted by a huge photo of the four of them that ran down the side of the page, and a photo of John, taken recently, sunglasses on and walking with Mal. There was half a page of writing, analysis and interviews with people who claimed to be close to them. He was sick of this. Every time someone had a conversation with one of them, they were ‘close’ and ‘lifelong’ friends. Ringo folded the newspaper back up as he felt his heart rate jump in fury. He was too tired for this. 

He had been able to call his mother and stepfather once over the past week. That was the only time he had used the phone. He didn’t feel like speaking to people, even if it was cruel, he couldn’t explain the situation again. He had been to see Paul four times. He was awake most times Ringo saw him, and he seemed to be getting better, but John said that his doctor had indicated he had a pretty bad lung injury and chest infection, and the road to recovery for him could be a long one. George was a lot worse off. According to his doctor, he had terrible internal bleeding, and from the way John described it, was lucky that the rubble fell the way it did, enclosing him in a sort of concrete box, instead of crushing him flat. In saying that, his limbs and parts of his chest had been impacted, and he had been bleeding out for some time before Paul and John found him. Ringo had visited him twice, after his surgery, and held his cold and grey hand. He was never awake, in a coma, but Ringo spoke to him anyways.

Brian and Mal came to visit him sometimes. Mal more often than Brian, but Ringo understood that they were very busy. He didn’t mind anyways, because John came to visit him every day. The nurses had given Ringo a wheelchair, and John took him out all the time. John needed the company.

A nurse walked into Ringo’s room, wheeling in an empty wheelchair. Over the last three days, Ringo had gone to the physiotherapy ward. The physiotherapist said he’d be able to walk again, but it would take work. He got into the chair with John’s assistance, and was being wheeled over to the lift. 

The ride felt longer than it probably was. Ringo was used to this by now, the feeling of being suspended in time. It happened to him every time he went to the hospital. Most of his childhood felt like he was simply meandering, time stuck. He had been so glad to finally get out of hospital as a child. Sure, he had to go back every once in a while, but it sure was better than every weekend. He had been so convinced that he was over that chapter of his life, that he was starting afresh. He was wrong. He may have overcome illness, but now there was something worse. Anxiety was beginning to rule his every thought. But this time, it wasn’t for himself.He had other people to worry about.

He was lifted to the bars by the nurse and John. He had lost a fair bit of weight over the past few days, his anxiety diminishing his appetite. He tried to support his own weight across the five metre length, but his arms were just too weak, and despite his struggling, fell back into John, who had been spotting him. Nonetheless, he had gone further than last session, and things looked like they were beginning to improve.

He sat in his wheelchair with his head on the back of Paul's bed. All three boys were silent as they watched the line of orange sun dip below the surface. Mal was downstairs combatting the press, and Brian was in George’s room, speaking to the doctors about something Ringo assumed must be very important, so it was just the three of them. Ringo liked the peace and quiet of the room, with John on Paul’s bed, and Ringo in his wheelchair. He closed his eyes as he rested his head against John’s feet that stuck out from the edge of the bed. It was the first time he felt somewhat happy, pushing his anxious thoughts out of his head, taking in every moment as his soul relaxed into a calm slumber.


End file.
